


Skuggan i mitt hjärta - The Shadow in my Heart

by Kabal42



Category: Skuggserien | The Shadow Series - Maria Gripe
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Motherhood, POV First Person, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5461295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabal42/pseuds/Kabal42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia Stenstierna's side of the story is not an easy one to untangle, not even for herself.<br/>(The story is closely woven around canon, especially "Skyggornas barn".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skuggan i mitt hjärta - The Shadow in my Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kattahj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattahj/gifts).



> Dear kattahj!  
> First, thank you for requesting this. I offered it because I saw it show up on the requested list and remembered the books with such fondness I just had to. It meant a very fond re-read this December and then the chance to write for them. I so wanted to write this in Scandinavian, but my Swedish is too childish and lacking, and I am not sure it would be enjoyable to you in Danish, so I opted for safe(r) English.  
> A very happy Yuletide to you!

I run. Rush and sprint and jump. My heart is aching and my breath is fire. As I dash towards the sliver of light a thought comes to me; made of the memory of agonising breath in cold water, and of an insight that I have been running ever since that day. Running from myself, just as I am now running from being known to be myself. In the split second before I burst into the light, I have time to register the absurdity that I am running from a child, and in reality from my own children.

Light brings little relief. I hide, though as I gaze back, I see that the girl is not following me. She stops, gulping down light and air as if it were water to a dying man. She is terrified, and I feel an unexpected stab of guilt. I never meant to frighten anyone, and I dare say she scared me every bit as much as I her. But she is young, only in her mid-teens, and though she carries herself with dignity and a certain wisdom, even as she stands there, fighting her fear, she is also so terribly young. There is a vulnerability to her that I had not hitherto noticed. She is unaware of it, the girl, but in that moment, she changes something in me, lights a spark, one might say. I see that she was never chasing me, only light and freedom, and I understand her on a deep, almost spiritual, level. Another piece of the puzzle that is other people slots into place. No one chases me but myself.

\- - - - - - 

I leave, I return, I leave again, and always I am drawn back. The reason I leave is the reason I return. Always them, my children. How strange that they are drawn to one another as well. It is the kind of (seeming?) coincidence that makes me ponder the universe and the concepts of destiny and fate. I once thought I was exceptional in every way, that my soul was different from other people’s. I should have understood earlier that this is not the case, but it took my own death to allow me to see that one soul is as valuable and unique as the other.  
Saga knows this and lives it, she understands far more of the world already than I ever did, than I do even know, I think. Arild and Rosilda I have failed. My defence, that I knew no better, that I had myself been raised as I raised them, is a meagre one. It is too late to change it now, to make up for the damage I have done. They have Saga to guide them now, and that is far better than what I could ever hope to provide. So I leave again and again, but I am never able to stay away, against better wisdom.

\- - - - - - 

My visits become more frequent. Where once they were so rare and brief that not even Axel always knew I was here, they are now prolonged and more than regular. I know them now, my children, and as their father has resurfaced, I know they do not need me. Oddly, I no longer find comfort in that thought, and the absurdity of it, the hypocrisy, is not lost on me. I, who wanted him to take them, am now jealous that he has. I left them for too long.  
At first I was lost, and certain that he was there with them. When I found that he, too, had left again, it was too late. Saga had been born, I was not free. Why did I never take her here, I wonder? Was I worried she would understand too much? She is far cleverer than even I thought, and yet she is strangely oblivious about some things. In her, I see myself insofar that she, too, can be oblivious to other people's feelings - not out of malice, but out of an inability to see that they do not view the world as she does. In time, I hope, she will outgrow this; her egalitarian beliefs will help her.  
For all their isolation, Rosilda and Arild are far better at grasping other people’s feelings. I wonder if I should not partly credit that girl who scared me so, whom I ran from. Berta, she is called. Her very name has the steady power that none of our names ever had, made of flight and shadows as they are. It was her I once fled from, and this is how I know that she is braver than most. I have made sure to see her in person since, covertly of course, and she is making a good impression on me. Axel is pushing me to meet with her for real. She knows of my existence and has kept her silence, she has certainly proved herself trustworthy in this, respecting my wishes when she believes I ought to be with my children. I wonder if she would feel the same now that Maximiliam is back.

\- - - - - - 

I will speak with Berta tonight. I have finally let Axel convince me, or think he has convinced me, at least. My mind was already made up; I must see her to be sure. My instinct is still to leave, to avoid doing further damage. Maximiliam has fallen. They grieve, of course, but he was never truly here before. They are grown up, now, they do not need me. But I will hear this girl out, and I admit it will be comforting to speak to a friend of theirs, an ally, maybe she will help me in the future, let me know how they are all doing. Sofia has, of course, proven a problem, but she shall not truly damage them. They are far too clever for that. I was never truly worried about all the feelings running rampant down there, in the castle. Saga will not be pinned down, not by anyone, so there was never any cause for worry. Using my children against each other, toying with their feelings, for her own gain, however, that is going too far. I do not at all regret scaring her witless. I hope, in fact, to do it again. Drive her away like any decent ghost should. For once, I can use my death to my children’s advantage, for real, this time, not just in my head.  
As for Saga, what can even I say? She has found her path now. I always knew she would. I am grateful that my children now know each other, but Saga never needed anyone.

\- - - - - - 

My lungs feel like they are on fire, and for a second I think that I am drowning, and then remember that I was saved. I was saved again, from the effects of fire, not from water. They are all here now, around me, each looking more worried than the other. Why are they worried? If anything, they should be angry. Nothing, nothing at all, is as I had imagined. Am I regretting everything? No, because Saga exists. Am I regretting fleeing over and over? I do not know. But I do know that I am tired of running. For now, I shall rest, right here, near the roses, but not among them. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have to tell you that I really, really wanted to understand why Lydia left her children, and why she made it a pattern to do so. I didn't manage to find out, but I think that, in the process, I got to understand her a little better, and that has definitely enhanced the experience of reading for me.


End file.
